


'Don't ask, don't tell'

by curly184



Category: The Resident (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17704940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curly184/pseuds/curly184
Summary: There is a reason loved ones aren’t allowed into the OR, and Jude knows it is only his position as attending surgeon at Chastain that has allowed him to be in here today.  That, and the fact that no-one knows the true nature of his and Conrad’s relationship.  At least, that’s what he had thought until today.





	'Don't ask, don't tell'

Marshall Winthrop had a lot to answer for in Jude’s opinion.  After using Conrad through-out his childhood to score points against his ex-wife, apparently oblivious to the effect it had on Conrad, and saying nothing when Conrad‘s mother died and having next to no contact with his son in nearly a decade, Marshall turned up at Chastain Park Memorial Hospital unannounced, asking Conrad to get tested to see if he was a suitable bone marrow donor for Marshall’s younger son, Ryan, a brother Conrad knew nothing about.  Preliminary tests had shown that Conrad was a suitable match, though not perfect.  Marshall decided to keep looking.  A month later Marshall returned to Atlanta asking - no, _telling_ \- Conrad to donate bone marrow, that the life of his younger sibling depended on it.  Conrad didn’t argue and the procedure was arranged for the following day.

Marshall is waiting in the hospital cafeteria, his private jet at the airport, ready to leave as soon as the harvesting was complete.  He has no intention of waiting to see how Conrad recovers.  In Marshall’s words, Conrad is an adult and he made it clear a long time ago that he wants nothing to do with Marshall.  And besides, Marshall has another son who needs him more right now.  _Who is more important,_ Jude reads between the lines.  When Jude pushes the matter, Marshall admits that Ryan knows nothing about Conrad, and will be told the marrow is from an anonymous, altruistic donor.

So Jude, gowned and gloved, scrub cap and surgical mask on, joins Conrad in the operating room, he sits on a small stool facing him as Conrad lies on his stomach while an anaesthesiologist prepares the epidural.  Ever a glutton for punishment, Conrad is insisting he doesn’t want general anaesthesia.  Apparently, he is going to walk out of the hospital later this evening and be back at work in a day or two.  Jude doesn’t bother arguing with him.  And to their credit, neither do the two surgeons.  Only the anaesthesiologist, Hana, questions him, but she soon gives up.

Jude recognises Hana from working with her in the OR a few times.  She is quite new to the hospital, she’s maybe only been here a few months.  She is talented; Jude has seen her keep her head in chaotic and stressful situations more than once.  She’s young, pretty.  Dark hair, dark eyes, petite. With a beautiful smile and a contagious laugh.  There was a time when he and Conrad would have been giving each other sideways looks and playing furtive games of rock paper scissors to determine who would be whose wingman.  But that was before.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jude says, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Conrad, too close, if anyone is watching.  He can feel Conrad’s breath against his skin.

“Yes I do.  Blood is blood, right?”

 _Blood is blood._   The words Marshall uses over and over again to manipulate the man who usually never allows anyone to get the better of him.  _Blood is blood.  When it comes down to it, we are family, and family help each other, no matter what._   Jude disagrees, he shares little DNA with the people he calls family.  His family is built from the people who are there when it matters most, who show up, who care. In some of his more fragile moments, Conrad told Jude that he allows Marshall to treat him this way because somewhere inside him is a little boy who just wants his dad’s love and approval.  _Because blood is blood._

“Except when it’s not,” Jude answers.

“Except when it’s not,” Conrad repeats, sounding defeated.

“So why are you doing this?”

“Because if I don’t, a 13 year old kid is gonna die.  And right now I’m the only person who has a shot of doing anything about that.”

Jude can't argue with that. Without Conrad, Ryan will most certainly die.  And maybe he will die anyway.  He has already undergone the conditioning treatment to receive the donated bone marrow - before Marshall had even asked Conrad to donate.  Ryan has endured a week of high dose chemotherapy and radiotherapy and his immune system is shot as a result.  He is now in isolation, awaiting Conrad’s bone marrow.  Without it, he can’t come out of isolation since he will be unable to fight off any infection.  Conrad had been left with no choice but to consent.

Conrad wraps his arms around a pillow, bracing himself to feel the sharp, stinging ache of the needle as the anaesthesiologist injects the local anaesthesia. They both know the pillow isn’t going to be enough to take the beating Conrad will want to give it when he feels the needle hit his spine.  Jude places a hand on Conrad’s shoulder and leans towards him, almost as though he is trying to shield Conrad from what’s coming.

“Fuuuuck” Conrad hisses, grabbing Jude’s forearm and biting down on the pillow.  He digs his fingers in hard enough to leave marks and make Jude’s eyes water, but Jude doesn’t flinch or show any sign of discomfort.  Thankful, at least, that Conrad is biting the pillow and grabbing his arm rather than the other way around.

“Okay, Conrad, that’s the hard part over” Hana says, “I need you to stay totally still for this next bit.”

Conrad nods and lays his head on Jude’s forearm where it is resting on the edge of the bed.  Hana works quickly, meticulously, and soon Conrad was numb from the waist down.  She keeps an eye on Conrad’s vitals for a few moments, ensuring no adverse effects.  Then the surgeons get ready to start the task of extracting the liquid marrow from Conrad’s hip bones. 

“I can give you a sedative.”  Hana tells Conrad, “There’s already an IV in your arm.  This is going to be a long process, you could be asleep.”

Conrad doesn’t lift his head from where he’s lying on Jude’s arm, but looks up at him.  Jude shrugs, “Sleep sounds good.”

After a moment of thinking, weighing up his options and every possible scenario, Conrad nods, “Yeah, sleep sounds good.”

As Hana gets ready to push the tiny vial of liquid into Conrad’s IV, she tells Jude that she’ll be here if he wants to leave.  Conrad tenses, and grips Jude’s arm tighter. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jude says, and without thinking, lifts his free hand and begins brushing his fingers through Conrad’s hair.  He stops, feeling his cheeks flush uncharacteristically when he catches Hana watching, smiling slightly.

“You two are sweet,” she says softly, before turning back to her work.

 _Sweet?_  No-one had ever called him sweet before.  _Does she know?_   She can’t possibly know, she’s barely been working here long enough to figure out they are best friends, never mind that they are more than that.  _Who told her?  Who else knows?_

A few minutes later, Conrad is sleeping, his hand wrapped loosely around Jude’s forearm.  Jude studies him for a moment, rarely has he seen Conrad look so relaxed within the four walls of the hospital, there is normally at least one patient giving him concern, causing his brow to furrow and his body to tense.  Jude hates seeing Conrad lying on an operating table, exposed and vulnerable.  He hates that when Conrad wakes up, he’ll be in pain, having endured the surgeons driving needles into his iliac crest over and over again to extract upwards of a litre of bone marrow.  Afterwards, as well as the physical pain Conrad will be in, he’ll likely experience flu-like symptoms for a few days.  And that’s to say nothing of the emotional and mental strain Marshall showing up has caused.

Jude never intended to fall in love with his best friend and even now, he doesn’t know exactly how it happened.  What he does know was that their time in Afghanistan bonded them in a way nothing else could.  They’d watched their friends get blown up and tried to save them.  They’d huddled together in their tent during sandstorms or to hear distant explosions, wondering what would be brought to their field hospital next.  Then there was the downtime, the soccer matches in the sand, where neither of them was happy unless they had beaten the team headed up by the other guy, playing card games by torchlight, which usually ended up in an argument about the rules and accusing each other of cheating.  They were both fiercely competitive and sore losers.

When their Tour of Duty ended, Jude returned to Atlanta and Conrad followed him a few weeks later, neither doing too well but Jude remarkably more intact than Conrad.  At times, it was all Conrad could do to turn into work at the hospital.  While Lane Hunter took, and deserved, most of the credit for pushing Conrad to becoming a damn good doctor, it was Jude who made sure Conrad was eating and sleeping and who took him biking to relieve some of the pressure and tension he felt.  Turned out, Conrad loved biking as much as Jude did.

It worked the other way too.  Jude isn’t immune to bad days; he’s had plenty of them.  And Conrad is there for him too.  It was only a few weeks ago that Jude lost a patient in his OR.  An undiagnosed blood disorder caused the patient to haemorrhage blood faster than they could transfuse FFP and plasma.  No amount of reassurance or kind words from his colleagues could convince Jude that it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t made a disastrous error.  Conrad sought him out when he heard what had happened, sat beside him in an empty on call room and reminded Jude that there were other patients who needed him.  Conrad switched shifts with someone and the next day they were out on their bikes, breathing that fresh mountain air into their lungs and leaving behind every trace of worry and stress.  Their friendship had always been on an equal footing, and that hadn’t changed.  From the moment they met, they’d had each other’s backs.

They were in Jude’s apartment one evening, a little over a year ago.  Jude lying on the sofa half watching a movie, Conrad trawling through old journal articles and websites, trying to solve some medical mystery that had come into the ER that day.  A storm had hit Atlanta that morning and it had rained all day, massive raindrops that bounced off the ground and soaked you on their way down and again on the way up.  What had started out as distant rumbles of thunder got closer and louder as the evening wore on. The lights in the apartment flickered followed a few minutes later by a total city blackout.  Then there was a deafening bang as a flash of lightening lit the sky outside.  Conrad launched himself across the room to where Jude lay on the sofa.  It didn’t happen often anymore, but a loud, unexpected noise was sometimes enough to trigger Conrad and he was back to the desert, mouth dry and heart racing, hearing IEDs explode and bracing himself for the flood of injured soldiers that would be coming his way.  Jude knew of one guy, so traumatised by the sight of scores of bodies after an earthquake, packed with bags of supermarket ice in an attempt to preserve them until they would be identified and removed, that sometimes the ice in his drink was enough to take him back to that time, leave him breathless and sweating.  PTSD was a bitch, and hyperarousal was only a small part of it.

Jude pulled Conrad towards him, wrapping his arms around his trembling body and they lay in the dark, waiting for the storm to pass.  With every flash of lightening and rumble of thunder, he felt Conrad’s muscles tighten.  The storm passed quite quickly, but it was almost three in the morning before power was restored to their part of the city.  By then Conrad had fallen asleep, wedged between Jude’s body and the back of the sofa, his head resting on Jude’s chest.  For reasons he had never been able to articulate, Jude hadn’t wanted to move.  They lay there all night, and the feeling of Conrad’s body pressed against him awakened something in Jude that there would be no escaping.

Hana drifts back towards them, breaking Jude from his thoughts.  She gently lifts Conrad’s hand to place a pulse-ox monitor on his index finger.  Conrad stirs and opens his eyes.

“It’s okay, Conrad, I’m just checking how you’re doing.”  She speaks softly, and Jude likes that she speaks to Conrad, even though he will probably remember none of this later.  Conrad half-nods and closes his eyes again. The blood pressure cuff is still in place from earlier, and Conrad frowns as it inflates, obviously disturbing his delicious drug-induced sleep, but he stretches his fingers out to allow Hana better access to place the pulse-ox monitor.  In any other circumstances, Jude would make a crack at how he likes this sedated Conrad – docile and compliant.  He’s never seen Conrad so amenable to a simple request.

Hana watches the numbers on the monitor behind Jude for a few minutes, her face devoid of expression.  Calm.  In control.  Exactly the sort of person you’d want monitoring you during surgery.  Anaesthesiologists are often portrayed as being lazy, the guy who sits on a stool doing very little, who has time to do crossword puzzles, read a book, have a little nap if they want to, while the surgeon does the hard work, the real work.  In truth, the anaesthesiologist is continuously monitoring the patient; their level of consciousness, blood pressure, heart rate, respiration and a whole host of other body processes.  While surgeons digs around in the patient’s insides, and cause all sorts of disturbances, the anaesthesiologist keeps the patient alive.

“I’m going to give you some oxygen,” Hana says, touching her hand to Conrad’s shoulder before she begins preparing the oxygen canister and nasal cannula.

Jude glances around at the monitor, trying to keep the concern off his expression.

“He’s okay,” Hana reassures him, “his blood pressure is a little lower than I’d like and his saturation levels are dipping into the low nineties occasionally.”

Jude fights to get control of the worry and apprehension he can feel rising in his chest as he reaches for Conrad’s chart and begins leafing through it.  Hana had given Conrad a standard dose of a sedative, but sometimes, for reasons they can’t always pinpoint, some patients are affected more than others.  It makes them drowsier, lowers their blood pressure, heart rate and respiration rate and can occasionally cause issues post-operatively.  But Hana seems confident some oxygen will be enough to rectify any issues.  Normally, Jude wouldn’t think to doubt the anaesthesiologist during a surgery.  They do their job while he does his, and he has enough trust in their professionalism and ability to not question their decisions, especially about something as basic as raising a patient’s slightly low blood pressure.  But this isn’t just any patient on the table, this is Conrad.  There is a reason loved ones aren’t allowed into the OR, and Jude knows it is only his position as attending surgeon at Chastain that has allowed him to be in here today.  That, and the fact that no-one knows the true nature of his and Conrad’s relationship.  At least, that’s what he had thought until today.

 

***

Conrad is insisting he is discharged that evening, threatening to sign an AMA if Hana doesn’t agree.  His blood pressure has been stable for a couple of hours but is still low.  He’s still quite drowsy, easily drifting off to sleep if the room falls quiet for any length of time.  Hana is reluctant, trying to convince him to stay the night.

“I’m going home with Jude,” Conrad practically growls at her, “I’ll be in excellent hands.”

He catches Jude’s eye, and gives him the tiniest hint of a filthy smirk.  Jude prays that in his still-slightly-dazed state, Conrad won’t feel the need to elaborate on his ‘excellent hands’ comment.  As Jude could have predicted, Conrad refuses to use the wheelchair, determined to walk out of the hospital to Jude’s truck.  Hana accompanies them, making no mention of their slow pace, or how Conrad occasionally winces in pain when he thinks she isn’t watching.  He _is_ in pain.  How could he not be?  He spent three hours that morning having surgeons repeatedly drive needles into his hip bones to aspirate bone marrow.  He is exhausted; dazed from the cocktail of drugs Hana had given him to bring him round from the sedation and to alleviate some of the pain he was feeling.  He’s bruised, with two quarter inch incisions at the very base of his back on the right side and another three small incisions on his left side.   Jude catches him glance towards the hospital cafeteria, looking for Marshall.  Marshall is long gone, not even hanging around long enough to see how Conrad came through his ordeal.  Jude touches his hand to Conrad’s back in a gesture that is meant to convey support, sympathy, solidarity.  They reach Jude’s truck in the parking lot and Jude throws his backpack on the back seat and opens the door for Conrad to climb in.  As Jude walks back round to the driver’s side, Hana grabs his arm, “Look after him,” she says, “Nothing strenuous, make sure he’s drinking plenty and if you’re even slightly concerned, call me.  I’m really not happy about discharging him.”

Jude laughs, not unkindly, “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hana replies, “but it’s different when it’s someone you love.  It’s hard to be objective.”

Her words catch Jude off guard and it takes him a moment to find his voice, he promises he’ll call her if he is worried.

They drive back to their apartment in silence.  Jude occasionally glancing at Conrad who has his eyes closed, resting his head against the door of the truck.  The peaceful expression he wore on his face just a few hours ago is gone.  They are barely through the door of the apartment when Conrad abandons the stoic act and practically falls into Jude, who catches him, supporting Conrad’s entire weight.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Jude says, wrapping Conrad in his arms as Conrad leans against him, digging his forehead into Jude’s chest.  They stand like that for a while, Jude tracing circles across Conrad’s shoulders, Conrad rubbing the fabric of Jude’s shirt between his finger and thumb.

Eventually, Jude feels Conrad start to relax in his arms, “You okay?” he asks, planting a rough kiss on Conrad’s temple.

Conrad nods and tilts his face upwards, brushing his lips across Jude’s jaw.  Jude places a hand on the side of Conrad’s face and kisses him.  Soft, slow, tender.

“Remember the first time you kissed me?  We were standing right here.”

“No.” replies Jude, grinning as he guides Conrad towards the couch.

“I remember,” Conrad says with a laugh.

Jude shakes his head, laughing “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Jude remembers only too well.  It had been a Thursday night, about a month after the storm.  They’d gone out for a few drinks after work, the tension that had lingered between them for the past few weeks reached fever pitch.  They’d sat at the bar, closer that was a strictly necessary, their thighs occasionally pressing together, touching each other’s arms as they talked and drank their beer.  Jude wanted nothing more than to feel the weight of Conrad’s body against his own again.  They were far from sober by the time they returned to Jude’s apartment.  Far from sober, but not so drunk they didn’t know exactly what they were doing.  They were barely through the front door before they are in each other’s arms kissing - passionate, hungry, desperate, barely allowing themselves to come up for breath.  Jude pushed Conrad against the wall and pressed the full length of his body against him, pushing his knee between Conrad’s legs.  He could just feel the hardness of him against his thigh.  He pressed in again and Conrad let out a moan.  Freeing his hands from where Jude had them pinned against the wall, Conrad pulled at Jude’s shirt, tossing it at their feet and pulling off his own before they stumbled to the couch, neither wanting to break contact.

For the next couple of weeks, they barely look at each other, aside from when patient care made it essential.  And just as they were beginning to talk again and make eye contact, they went for beers after work and there was a repeat of that Thursday night.  The cycle continued for weeks, months, with less time between their passionate nights together and less alcohol until it became a somewhat normal way to spend a night when neither of them were working.  Conrad makes Jude feel things he never imagined he could feel.  The feeling of Conrad’s body against his, his cool hands exploring every inch of Jude’s body, the sound of him moaning when Jude pulls him closer, is a bigger turn on than anything Jude had ever known.

Eventually, Jude’s jealous, possessive streak got the better of him.  Conrad had just finished his shift and was heading out to meet Nic or Noni or someone else who had caught his attention when Jude blocked him from leaving the locker room. 

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Why not?” Conrad had asked, placing his hands on his hips, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up to reveal those tattooed forearms that somehow manage to look strong and fine at the same time.

Jude watched him for a moment, he’s fresh out of the shower, and his blonde hair is still damp, dishevelled looking in that gorgeous way.  His jeans hang a little too low on his hips and Jude felt his breath catch in his throat as he imagined running his hands down Conrad’s body to feel those sharp hip bones.  “Because whatever this is, whatever we are doing, I don’t want to share you.”

“And what exactly are we doing?” asked Conrad.

Jude didn’t answer; he crossed the space between them, placed a hand at the back of Conrad’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss.  Conrad responded by wrapping his arms around Jude, moaning softly against Jude’s mouth.  Jude tangled his hand in Conrad’s hair and pulled him closer, wishing he didn’t have to be in the OR in ten minutes because Jude wanted to do things with Conrad.  Wanted to do things _to_ Conrad.  But ten minutes in a locker room where anyone could walk in wasn’t the wisest idea.  Jude broke their kiss, barely.  He pressed his forehead to Conrad’s, there was mere millimetres between their lips.  They were both breathless.

“And what happens when you leave?” Conrad asked, “When you re-enlist or whatever it is you’re gonna do when you get frustrated with all the bureaucracy in this place?”  His voice is low, rough.  There was a cockiness in his tone, the hint of a smile on his lips, but Jude can read him well enough to know that it was all an act, Conrad was terrified Jude would leave.

Jude kissed him again, softer this time, then wrapped his arms around Conrad, resting his chin on top of Conrad’s head while Conrad rests his head over Jude’s heart.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, then after a few minutes he turned to walk out of the locker room, back towards the OR floor.

“See you at home, then?” Conrad called after him, and when Jude glanced back over his shoulder, their eyes met and they gave each other the tiniest, almost undetectable nod.  One that said _yes, see you at home_ and also acknowledged that the landscape had shifted between them and they were both in this too deep to walk away.

 

***

 

Five days after Conrad’s surgery and Jude can’t wait to get out of the hospital and back home.  OR schedules have run behind all day and what was supposed to be an easy eight hour shift covering some straightforward elective procedures has stretched to 14 hours.  It’s after nine when he is in the locker room, pulling off his scrub top to throw in the laundry bin when Hana walks in.

“How’s Conrad doing?” she asks as she pulls her own top off, unself-conscious as she stands in her bra in front of him, but hurriedly pulls her shirt on when two other surgeons walk in.

All things considered, Conrad is doing okay.  He is still in a lot of pain; especially his back and he struggles to get comfortable a lot of the time so he isn’t sleeping great.  Which means Jude isn’t sleeping great.

“It might seem counter-intuitive, but tell him to try lying on his back to sleep.”  Hanna offers.

Jude gives her a quizzical look, and she explains that the pain in Conrad’s back is most likely referred pain from his hips.  If he is lying on his side, he is placing a lot of pressure on his hip which is probably making things worse.  It makes sense, and Jude curses himself that he didn’t think of it himself.

Hana pulls her hoodie on and is half-way out the door when Jude calls her back, “How did you – how do you know?”

She looks confused and he continues, “We didn’t think anyone in the hospital knew; we don’t talk about it here.  I’m just wondering who told you.”

“No one told me,” she replies, smiling slightly, “It’s the way you look at each other.  When one of you walks into a room, the other’s eyes light up like it’s the best thing to have happened to you all day.”  She pauses, waiting for Jude to speak.  When he doesn’t, she continues, “I haven’t mentioned anything to anyone – and I won’t.  Not that you have anything to be ashamed of.”

“We’re not ashamed.” Jude says, a little more harshly than he intended.

She gives a nervous laugh, bites her lip for a moment, “I think I should stop talking now,” she says, “I keep saying the wrong thing and I like you – I don’t want to offend you.

“You haven’t offended me,” Jude replies, his tone softer.

Hana is quiet for a moment, watching him from where she stands in the doorway.  “Look, it’s up to you guys who you tell and who you don’t tell.  No one will hear anything from me.” She pauses, “You’re both nice guys, I think people would be happy for you.  Any other reaction says more about them than it does about you.”

She leaves him alone and Jude finishes getting changed and slips out of the hospital before anyone can call him back.  He learned a long time ago to leave quickly when he gets the chance; otherwise, someone inevitably calls him back for something and he ends up being there for days on end.  Hana’s words play on his mind as he drives back home.  He isn’t ashamed of his relationship with Conrad, isn’t ashamed of what they are and what they do together, neither is Conrad.  They are pretty open about their relationship with friends outside the hospital, but they deliberately keep their relationship out of work.  The truth is, there is a stigma about gay doctors, especially gay surgeons, possibly as big a stigma as there is about gay soldiers.  While ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ had been repealed almost a decade ago, the legacy lives on – both in and out of the military.

He pulls up outside the apartment, wondering if he could talk Conrad into eating pizza tonight.  Or Indian?  Jude is starving.  He lets himself into the apartment, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jacket, tossing it on the couch.  Conrad is sitting on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, head in his hands, leaning on the counter.

“You okay?” Jude asks, moving towards him.

Conrad looks up; his eyes are red, glassy looking.  “He’s rejecting the bone marrow,” he says simply, pushing his phone towards Jude.

Jude reads the short, curt text from Marshall telling Conrad that Ryan’s body is rejecting the donated marrow.  There is no question asking how Conrad is feeling.  And when Jude briefly scans the previous text messages, there is no evidence of any concern for Conrad in any of the messages they have exchanged in recent weeks.

“I’m sorry, man,” Jude says, wrapping Conrad in his arms.  Conrad tilts his head up and Jude kisses him softly, a little tentatively.  After a moment, Conrad tugs at Jude’s shirt, undoing the buttons and sliding it off Jude’s shoulders, running his hands down Jude’s chest, slipping his fingers under the waistband of Jude’s jeans.

Jude’s already hard, and aching with how much he wants to feel Conrad’s hands on him, feel his mouth around him, hear Conrad moan with pleasure when Jude buries himself inside him.  It’s been too long, thanks to almost two weeks of working opposite shifts before Marshall showed up.  Jude can’t help the moan that escapes his lips as Conrad hand brushes against him, sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.  Jude pulls Conrad’s shirt off over his head and pulls him off the stool, nudging him in the direction of the bedroom.

That’s when Jude catches sight of the angry, purple bruises surrounding the incision marks at the base of Conrad’s back, spreading up his back, around his hips and disappearing beneath the waistband of the navy sleep pants he is wearing.  This is Jude’s favourite part of Conrad’s body – his narrow hips and the dip at the small of his back – and Jude doesn’t like seeing him so damaged.  He reaches for Conrad’s wrist and turns him around, “This might fall under Hana’s definition of strenuous activity.”

“So?” asks Conrad, reaching up to kiss Jude again.

Jude allows Conrad to kiss him before responding, “So I don’t want to hurt you.”  Conrad liked it rough, they both did.  The rougher the better usually, but they both have their limits, and Jude’s line in the sand is here.

“That’s kinda the point,” says Conrad, kissing Jude again, firmer this time, as he begins working at the button of Jude’s jeans.

Jude takes a deep breath, “We’re not doing this.  Not now.”

“You’re seriously turning down sex? “ asks Conrad, shooting Jude one of his most charming smiles, the kind of smile Conrad knows can usually get Jude to do anything he wants.

“Believe me, I don’t want to,” Jude replies.

“Then why are we having this conversation?” Conrad says, still smiling as he tugs at Jude’s jeans.

Jude exhales a heavy breath and places his hands on Conrad’s shoulders, shifting his weight back slightly.  “Because you don’t want sex.  You want a punishment for Ryan’s graft failing.”

The smile falls from Conrad’s face and he steps back out of Jude’s reach.  He lifts his shirt from where it lies on the floor and puts it back on.  He can’t help but grimace as he does, still in pain.

“It’s not your fault” Jude says, moving towards Conrad again.

Conrad says nothing as Jude repeats the words over and over.  “It’s not your fault.  It’s not your fault.”  Jude finds himself wrapping his arms around Conrad again, pulling him as close as he can.  Conrad resists at first, but then leans into Jude and allows himself to disappear in Jude’s strong arms as he tries to choke down a sob.  He turns his face in towards Jude’s neck, his breath heavy and ragged and wet.  Jude holds Conrad tightly and lets him cry.  He doesn’t ask questions and Conrad doesn’t offer any reason for his tears.  He doesn’t need to, Jude understands even without an explanation.  At this point, they know each other’s demons as well as they know their own.  Finally, Conrad slips out of Jude’s arms, wiping his face on his sleeve and meeting Jude’s eye for a moment.  He looks self-conscious; his eyes flickering back down towards the floor after a couple of seconds.  Jude cups Conrad’s face in his hand, forcing Conrad to look at him.  _Are you okay?_  He asks, wordlessly.  Conrad nods and tries to smile.

Jude wipes away a stray tear from Conrad’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, and then kisses him softly on his forehead, then again on his nose, “I love you,” he says simply.

“I love you, too.”

They order a pizza and afterwards lie in bed, half watching a documentary on Netflix, half dosing.  Jude is stretched out with Conrad curled beside him, as close as he can possibly get.  It’s only when Conrad starts to shift around, uncomfortable, that Jude remembers what Hana said about getting him to lie on his back.  Unsurprisingly, Conrad doesn’t listen and eventually positions himself on his stomach, half lying across Jude’s body, his head resting over Jude’s heart.  Before long, Conrad falls asleep and Jude watches the end of the documentary, all the while tracing tiny circles across Conrad’s back and shoulders.  His shirt has ridden up, and almost on reflex, Jude’s hands drift down Conrad’s back and he begins to very gently trace patterns across the bruised areas.  Conrad shivers in his arms and Jude stops.

“Keep doing that, it feels nice,” Conrad mumbles sleepily.

The warmth and weigh of Conrad lying against him takes Jude back to the night of the storm, the night this all began.  Although falling in love with his best friend was unexpected, he can’t imagine their lives being any different.

“Why have we never told anyone at the hospital about this?” Jude asks.

“I dunno,” Conrad replies, propping himself up so he can look at Jude. “Do you want to?”

Jude only shrugs in response and after a moment, Conrad lies down again and Jude returns to tracing circles on his back, on the sides of his hips.

 

***

 

Two weeks later, Conrad is back at work.  He could really have done with taking longer off, he’s not even close to being fully recovered, but being alone in the apartment all day isn’t doing him any good.  Ryan died eight days after receiving the marrow and Jude knew it wouldn’t take much for Conrad to talk himself into a very dark place of guilt.  Maybe being at work is the best thing for him right now.

Although they have both seen each other at their worst before, vulnerable, sad and frightened, something has changed between them over the past few weeks.  Conrad gave up his apartment and they now both officially lived at Jude’s.  Jude could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of nights Conrad has spent in his own apartment in the last year; they mainly used it as a place to store their bikes.  Not that they weren’t committed and serious before, but it had always remained unspoken.

They walk into the hospital together, closer than would be usual for two colleagues, laughing about something when they meet Mina in the lobby, who hands Jude a patient file.  Conrad touches a hand to Jude’s shoulder and leans in to kiss his cheek before he heads off towards the ER.  Mina raises an eyebrow, “Have you two finally been smoked out of the closet?”

Conrad grins, “You’re just sorry you missed your chance with me.”

“I’m really not,” she says with a hint of a laugh before turning her attention to Jude and the file she brought him.

As the week goes on, word gets around that Dr Silva and Dr Hawkins are a ‘thing’ and no-one reacts negatively.  In fact, most people barely react.  Maybe because they already had an inkling or maybe because Hana is right and it’s not that big a deal.

On Saturday evening after his shift finishes, Jude finds Conrad in the bar with Devon and Irving.  Jude slides into the booth beside Conrad, briefly touching his hand to Conrad’s leg.

“Do I get a question?” Irving asks, looking between Jude and Conrad.

Conrad grins, he knows what’s coming.

“Are we no longer doing the whole ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ thing with you two?"

Conrad grins and drinks the last mouthful of his beer.

“So that’s a no?” Irving persists. 

“No,” Jude and Conrad reply in unison.

“Oh thank God,” exclaims Devon, resting his head on the table, “it was getting exhausting.”

“You wanna get out of here?” Conrad asks Jude.

Jude nods and they say goodbye and are out the door.  Conrad’s hand finds Jude’s as they walk down the street.

“I was thinking, you wanna take the bikes out tomorrow?  It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’re both off tomorrow, right?” 

Jude nods, “You’re feeling okay then?”

Conrad shrugs, which Jude knows means he’s feeling okay but probably not okay enough for one of their epic cycles through their favourite bike trails.  Jude knows the bruising on Conrad’s back has reduced considerably, and the incisions were healing up okay, Jude had been sure to get a good look when they were showering together a few mornings ago.

Jude nods again, but doesn’t say anything.

“So is that as yes?” asks Conrad as he puts his key in the lock to let them into the apartment.

Jude follows him through the door, putting his arms around Conrad before he has a chance to turn round and whispers in his ear, “I might have other ideas about how we can spend tomorrow, since you’re feeling better.”


End file.
